Sacrifices we Made
by Aloharocker
Summary: Post Rent MR friendship eventually more. What would happen if Mark got sick and Roger was to blame? summaries are not my strong point, just read.
1. Chapter 1

Post Rent MR friendship eventually more. M for language/content/angst etc just to be safe.

Disclaimer: I don't own Mark, Roger or any other RENT related items. I settle for the DVD and the soundtrack. and my stories of course.

Roger's POV. Constructive Criticism rocks my world….

* * *

"Roger?" Mark called from the doorway of the loft. He had just come in from a morning of filming, returning earlier than usual, but I thought nothing of it. He sounded a little out of breath but I didn't realize that until later either.

"Yeah." I answered from my room where I was working on some lyrics.

"I couldn't carry my bike anymore, it's down at Mimi's old place if you wouldn't mind getting it later."

I laid my guitar down on the bed and rushed out to meet him. Mark had always been on the thin side, but he'd always held his own, how could he suddenly be too weak to carry his ancient bicycle upstairs, like he'd been doing since the day he moved into the loft? Something was definitely wrong.

"Are you okay?" I asked, hovering over him where he lay on the worn couch. His pale frame shook despite the fact he was still wearing his coat and scarf.

"Fuck, what the hell happened man?" I had a feeling what the problem was. I remembered the shake and the look in his eyes from Angel and Mimi. Mark had HIV, and it was advanced. How had I not noticed how much weight he lost? How sick he looked? It was now I remembered the shivering every night, I assumed was from the lack of heat, and the nasty cough he had developed wasn't just a cold. Even though I knew all this, I wanted him to tell me himself.

"Mark?"

He just whimpered softly, closing his ocean blue eyes.

I took his clammy hands in mine, perching on the edge of the couch by his feet.

"Mark. Tell me what happened."

He shook his head ever so slightly.

"You'll get mad." He whispered, breaking into a cough.

"Why the hell would I get mad, Mark?" I said softly, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead.

"You needed AZT. After April. During withdrawal. We were broke as hell. Before Buzzline and stuff." He spoke in fragmented sentences, taking deep breaths after each.

"No!" I nearly screamed, realizing what he meant. It was either drugs or sex, maybe both. How could I have been so blind? The withdrawal that dominated my life pushed my best friend into this? I killed Mark. Maybe not directly, but it was my fault he was dying now. It was my fault he would never be a famous filmmaker. It was my fault he had the dreaded disease that followed us all everyday in this huge city. Tears were slipping down both our faces now.

"Mark, you didn't!"

He tried to turn away from me, but I pulled him onto my lap, holding him while he wept.

"Shhh. It's going to be okay, baby. We can get through this, you just need some sleep and some AZT."

He didn't say anything.

"How long have you known?"

He took a few breaths before answering, tears still staining his flushed cheeks.

"I got tested right after Angel died, right after you went to Santa Fe. I knew something was wrong but I didn't want anyone to worry, or anyone to know. Everything kind of fell apart then, so everyone was distracted."

I shook my head in disbelief.

"Damn it, Mark why didn't you tell me? Better yet, why the hell would you risk getting HIV for me? I'm not fucking worth it!"

"You're my best friend, and you had enough to worry about. I knew you would say you weren't worth it and give me the AZT. I didn't want you to die and leave me alone. " He fell into a coughing fit, and I rubbed his thin back and waited until it subsided before continuing.

"That covers why you didn't tell me, but why did you do it in the first place?" I said, still floored by his selflessness.

"You needed the AZT, I didn't want to push you into getting a job with the withdrawal and everything, that was hard enough. I thought I was being safe, I always used protection, I guess I just wasn't safe enough. It was only for a couple of months anyway."

"Months?" I said, nothing surprising me anymore.

"Yeah, remember that 'piece' I was working on for that 'contest', for such a long time at strange hours of the day?"

I nodded.

"No such piece, no such contest."

I inhaled, trying not to lose my temper. I was angry but more than that I was sorry. I was sorry that I had been so selfish, and sorry I had taken Mark for granted all this time.

"Roger?" Mark whispered, breaking me out of my thoughts

"Yeah?" I said, trying to keep my emotions in check.

"I'm sorry."

I shook my head.

"Don't ever be sorry Mark, I'm the one who should be sorry, and I am. I really, really am."

"It's ok."

"No, it's not. But I'm going to try my best to get you better and make it up to you."

"I'm kinda tired." He said trying to stifle a yawn.

"I'm sure you are, come on let's get you to bed. I'll go get another thing of AZT and some food, while you sleep, if you'll be okay."

He nodded, and I scooped up his body before he had a chance to protest, depositing him in his bed. I hurriedly pulled the blankets off my own bed, and tucked him in.

"Night, Mark." I sighed, taking off his glasses for him.

Mark sighed back, already falling asleep. I watched his chest rise and fall, trying to assure myself he wasn't going to die while I was gone. He didn't deserve this, but I was going to try to make it right.

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Read and review please, i'll update within the next couple of days. thanks! 


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to everyone who gave me a review I really appreciate it, even if I don't respond. Please give me suggestions if you think I need it.

Disclaimer: I still don't **own** any of the characters/situations etc that make up RENT or obvious brand names (like Tylenol). Sorry if my story is similar to yours, it's not intentional.

* * *

I returned an hour later with two sets of AZT, powdered soup mix (it's cheaper than the canned stuff), some tea bags and a bottle of Tylenol. I could live without my cigarettes or any other tiny luxuries we'd allowed ourselves for a while, if it meant Mark would get better. I put the food on the kitchen table and poured a glass of water to bring Mark his first dose of miracle pills.

I found him propped up in bed, glasses on, eyes closed. He looked worse than when I left him, although the shivering had slowed down considerably.

"Hey." I whispered, putting the glass of water and bottle of pills on the nightstand so I could drag a chair over.

"Sit on the bed with me." Mark rasped, eyes open, pleading for a shred of comfort.

I quickly obliged, sitting opposite him on the dilapidated mattress.

"Feeling any better?" I joked nervously.

"A little, now that you're back." Mark wheezed.

I smiled, same old sentimental Mark. As clichéd as it sounds, my heart ached to know how much suffering I had caused him, for so long.

"Ready for your AZT?"

He shrugged, trying to salvage any dignity he had left.

"I'll take that as a yes."

I shook out two pills, one for him, one for me.

"Cheers." I muttered, handing him the glass of water.

He struggled to swallow the pill, his throat raw from coughing so hard. My own throat seized at his discomfort. He was so sick, how had I not realized it sooner?

"I'm gonna go call Collins to be with you for a little bit. I- I need to get out." I stumbled. I just couldn't take it; I needed to figure out what the hell I was going to do now.

Mark nodded, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes. I think he understood, but that didn't make me feel any better about abandoning him again. I left the room quickly before I changed my mind. I dialed Collins' familiar number, almost hanging up twice. He answered on the typical third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey Collins, It's Roger."

"What's up dude? You okay? You sound funny."

I sighed before explaining, giving him the condensed version because I couldn't deal with the truth.

"Mark is sick. I mean really sick," I started shakily. " I need to get out for a couple hours. Could you come over just in case he needs something while I'm gone?"

"Of course, you need anything? I'll be over in ten minutes tops, don't leave before I get there."

"Thanks."

I hung up. I wasn't sure I could make it until Collins came, so I busied myself gathering a notebook, pen and my leather jacket.

The metal door rattled open five minutes later.

"You okay?" Collins asked, wrapping me in a hug.

"I don't know. Just take care of him for me, I'll be home later tonight."

He gave me a 'you better not do something you'll regret later' look before nodding.

"See you later." I muttered, walking out the still open door.

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read and review, i'd love to know what you think of it so far! next chapter coming soon, i hope.


	3. Chapter 3

Still no owning of RENT characters/themes, just the stories I use them in. Sorry this took so long to get up, hope you like how this is progressing. Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up, my computer was fried.i'll get the next one up this weekend (i hope)

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I walked the crowded rush hour streets aimlessly for a good half an hour before deciding to visit the cemetery where all our friends were buried.

First, I knelt at April's stone, tracing the carved letters with my guitar callused fingertips. I hadn't visited this place in a long time; I'd been so busy and so content. I realized that this had all started with April. We dated, went to shows, lived together, got high together, we got HIV together, and a little bit of me died when she died. I didn't realize I was crying until the cement below me was splotched with tears.

I moved on to Angel. Her plot was evidently tended for by Collins, a bottle of blue nail polish and a fresh bouquet of white roses lay against the headstone. Collins didn't deserve to lose the love of his life, and Angel definitely didn't deserve to die. Neither did Mark for that matter.

Was I thinking about this too hard? Was I punishing myself too much, or not enough? I shook the questions from my head, wondering wasn't going to help anyone.

I saved Mimi's grave for last, because it was the hardest. She had only died two months ago, and I missed her like hell. The smooth black stone was embossed with an angel that she requested in her final days and it suited her perfectly.

I sat crossed legged, staring at my reflection the stone_. I could picture her wavy, unruly locks tangling around her bony shoulders in the hospital bed like it was yesterday, her face as pale as I'd ever seen it, clean of her ever present mask of cosmetics. I remember the last day before she fell into a coma from which she would never wake, she tried to say "I love you" but her voice was too weak from coughing. I don't remember what happened after that, or the two weeks that followed the funeral._

I couldn't let that happen to Mark. I needed to be with him every second of everyday from now on. I needed to help him get better. I needed someone to take care of me, but first I had to take care of him. Wiping the last tears from my eyes, I gathered my stuff and made the trek back to the loft.

* * *

I slid open the door to find Collins sitting on the couch, reading a newspaper. For some reason the fact that he wasn't hovering over Mark made me furious.

"What the hell are you doing?" I nearly growled, stripping off my jacket.

He looked up from the article he was reading.

"Are you high?" he questioned, before answering me.

I shook my head.

"Hell no. I've been clean for more than a year, why would I give that up now? You guys worked way too hard to get me back, I couldn't do that to Mark now. What do you think I am, stupid?" I spat

"Just checkin' man, you don't always have the best judgment, especially when you're emotional." He answered in a true Collins fashion.

"How's he doing?" I asked, almost afraid to know.

Collins got up, put his shoes on and turned back to me.

"He's been asleep since about twenty minutes after you left, right after he told me what happened. He looks a little better now, just keep him quiet for as long as you can." I relaxed a little bit. Mark was okay.

"Thanks." I said, giving Collins a hug.

"No problem. Call me if you guys need anything. And I mean anything okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll call you tomorrow anyway to let you know how he's doing."

He nodded before sliding the door open.

"Do you think he's going to be okay?" I asked, voice cracking, as he started to walk out the door. He turned back around to answer.

"I dunno dude, just take care of him."

I just nodded; I don't think I could have spoken.

Collins closed the door behind himself, and I went in to check on Mark.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm on a writing streak right now, so this is either going to be a long chapter or I'll have a couple of smaller chapters over the next couple of days. Please review if you like/don't like.

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT or anything related. Obviously.

* * *

I slipped into the bedroom, where Mark was asleep again. He looked a little better, the expression on his face reminiscent of a small child; so innocent and content. If only it were true. He stirred a little bit, opening his eyes enough to see me and wake up.

"You're back." He yawned.

"You're alive." I said back.

He gave a small chuckle, trying not to cough in the process.

"You okay?" I asked. Dumb question, but I didn't know what else to say.

"I should ask you the same thing, your eyes are all red."

I shook my head; he didn't need to worry about me. Not now, not ever again.

"Where did you go?" Mark asked. I could tell he just wanted to hear me talk.

"No where, just walked for a while." I lied softly.

He lay back against the pillows again, eyelids drooping shut.

"You went to the cemetery, didn't you?" he questioned, eyes still shut.

I sighed. "Yeah."

"Come on, sit with me."

I hesitated; I didn't want him to waste his already waning energy comforting me.

"Please." He pouted, turning his lip out.

I took off my jacket and my shoes before perching on the edge of the bed, springs groaning under the extra weight.

"All the way up here, I'm cold." He motioned at me then patted the space next to him.

I shook my head, returning my feet to the cold hardwood floor.

"Please Roger." He asked again, blue eyes pleading.

_Those eyes. Bright, clear blue. Tempting, taunting eyes. I could write entire albums worth of songs paying tribute to those baby blues and nothing would compare._

What am I saying? They're Mark's eyes. My best friend's eyes. My very sick best friend's eyes.

I crawled up the deteriorating mattress until I was right next to Mark, I could feel his bones through his fevered skin pushing up against me as he cuddled in. He really was cold. I wrapped my arms around his torso trying to generate some extra heat.

"Thanks." He whispered.

I put my chin on his thin shoulder and he fell back to sleep.

* * *

Mark coughed for most of the night, rough body shaking coughs that left him breathless. I held him in between fits, rubbing his back and kissing his sweaty forehead. I remembered doing this for Mimi, and I remembered Collins doing it for Angel before that but this felt different. He tried to push me away every time, not wanting to get me sick too. That was Mark for you, never thinking of himself. He could be laying there dying and with his last breath apologize for the cost of the funeral. Oh wait he was already doing that.

We got maybe three hours of sleep total, which wasn't healthy for anyone but it was literally murder for him. After his first dose of AZT for the day, I knew we had to do something.

"Mark?"

"Yeah?" he croaked back.

"You need to go to a doctor or the hospital or something."

"No." he said as firmly as he could manage.

"I can't take care of you like you need to be taken care of right now by myself. You need a professional."

"We don't have the money." He rasped.

"I don't care! I'll sell my goddamn guitar if it means you live past tomorrow!" I said, trying not to lose my temper. Why couldn't he see that I needed him? I had tears collecting in my eyes, blurring my vision. I couldn't lose him, Mark was all I had left. If he died, it would mean I was next.

"Just to the Clinic. If they can't fix me, forget it." He whispered, seeing my distress.

"Okay." I agreed, knowing full well that if they said he needed to go to the hospital I would carry his skinny ass over my shoulder if I had to.

I helped him put on some warmer clothes, and tie his shoes before wrapping his ever-present striped scarf around his neck. He stumbled the whole way to the door before I put his arm around my neck to support him. Needless to say, it was an adventure getting down the stairs. It made me wonder how he had gotten me home all the times I'd been too drunk or high or both to do it myself.

There was no way I could get him all the way to the clinic like this even though it was only a couple of blocks away. To his horror I dug a crumpled ten from my pocket, and flagged a taxi to get us there while there was daylight.

Our regular clinic was nicer than most. It was clean, relatively well stocked and the staff was always kind. However, it's good reputation made it popular. We waited for at least three hours in a jam-packed waiting room. Mark put his head in my lap and slept for most of it. I barely noticed because he was so light. It scared me.

"Mark Cohen?" a tired looking receptionist called from the desk, after I finished reading my fifth Alternative Press magazine.

I shook Mark awake and guided him into the exam room the nurses pointed us to.

"Hello Mr. Cohen." The doctor said, trying to sound cheerful when we walked in.

Mark lowered himself into a chair, still not fully awake yet.

"What exactly seems to be the problem?" the doctor, whose name tag identified him as Dr. Drake, asked.

Mark opened his mouth to answer, but responded with a choking cough instead. I took that as my cue to answer.

"He's HIV positive, has this ridiculous cough and won't let me take him to the hospital." I said, hoping that was all.

"Thanks." Mark said, temporarily recovered.

"Anything besides the coughing?" The doctor asked, pulling on his stethoscope

"No, I'm just really tired." Mark answered, taking deep breaths.

"Good. Your lungs sound clear. Here are some medication samples that should help for a while, they won't interfere with the AZT so take them both. Get some good food and drink a lot of water or fruit juice if you can get it."

Mark nodded, already making a mental list of what he figured we could afford.

"Just get some rest, but go right to the hospital if you get any worse."

"Thank you." I said shaking his hand as I led Mark out of the room, meds in hand.

I waived down another taxi, using the change from the last one to get us a block away from home. Mark barely made it in the door before his legs gave out. I carried him into bed before calling Collins, I had promised him an update and I needed him to get supplies. I wasn't about to leave Mark home alone again.

"Roger?" Mark asked, looking over at me as I curled back up on his bed.

"Yeah?"

"Promise me that if we don't have the money, you won't keep buying my meds and the extra food."

"No." I said turning towards him so he could look me in the eye.

"I won't take money away from you just so I can die." He said with defiance.

"You're not going to die anytime soon, definitely not before me." I said, trying to convince myself more than anything.

"Just promise me then."

"No way in Hell Mark."

"I'll go get myself run over or jump off the balcony right now, if you don't promise." He pulled out of my grasp and headed for the door.

"Damn it Mark, I promise." I sputtered, exasperated.

"You're lying, but I'm too tired to argue any more." He said, leaning against the doorframe.

"Good. Get your butt back in bed then."

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wow my longest chapter yet. let me know if you have any ideas, constructive criticism rocks my world, i won't take offense.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry it took me a while to get this up, craziness with my last week of classes. Review if you like it, hate it or just feel like it.

I still don't own any rights to anything RENT related. I have however seen the movie 35 times. Fear me.

* * *

We woke the next morning to a full stocked refrigerator courtesy of Collins.

"Mark! What do you want for breakfast?" I said shuffling around the kitchen while he got dressed.

"We have food?" he said, walking slowly into the kitchen to see what the fridge looked like full.

Collins had really outdone himself. Cans of soup, vitamins, rice, pasta, canned fruit, tuna, cereal, chocolate chip cookies, instant mashed potatoes, pancake mix, coffee, Kool aid mix, apple juice, orange juice and grape juice filled the once empty shelves of the fridge and cupboards. We were set for a good, long time. Hopefully. Mark stood staring in awe as I listed our cache.

"Well, what would you like first?" I asked with a flourish.

"Um, just some apple juice I guess." He mumbled.

I wanted to slap him.

"THE FOOD IS FOR _YOU_, MORON! THE DOCTOR SPECIFICALLY TOLD YOU TO EAT. IF YOU DON'T PICK SOMETHING I'LL MAKE ONE OF EVERYTHING AND YOU CAN EAT IT ALL."

I didn't mean to yell, but I was so frustrated with him always putting everyone else first even when he deserved the world.

"Scrambled eggs and apple juice then." He muttered looking at his feet.

"Sure." I said smiling, I wasn't mad and I didn't need him thinking I was.

I moved to the fridge to find the eggs and milk, while Mark dug in an old box to find a frying pan. As I scrambled the eggs, Mark sipped his juice; swallowing his double dose of medication.

"You have to eat something too. I'm not going to be able to eat all this before it goes bad" he said, putting the now empty glass on the table.

"Only after you're so full you couldn't dream of taking another bite." I quipped.

I slid the steaming eggs onto a plate, toping them with shredded cheese before slicing a banana and piling on the side.

"Bon appetite." I said presenting Mark with the plate and a fork.

He gave a halfhearted smile before scowling at the dish.

"Mark, you have to put the food in your mouth for it to qualify as eating."

"I know how to eat, Roger." He said more spitefully than I'd heard his voice in a long time.

"Prove it." I teased.

He picked up the fork, cut a slice of the eggs and popped it into his mouth. I swear he chewed this half-bite of scrambled eggs for three minutes before gagging and swallowing.

"That bad?" I half laughed, half questioned.

"No, they're great. It's just been a while since I've actually eaten anything."

I grimaced, his words unintentionally stinging every fiber of my being.

"Don't remind me how much of an inconsiderate jerk I've been."

He picked up the fork again; to reassure me how much he appreciated my new found attentiveness. It took at least half an hour for him to eat a quarter of the eggs. I stopped him at that point; they were beyond cold and disgusting. It was going to be a long day.

"Are you sure you want to make me eat?" Mark said, finishing the banana an hour later.

"Babe, you're going to eat three meals a day if it takes you all twenty four hours to choke it down."

Mark began to gag before I finished my sentence. Getting to the bathroom was out of the question, but he did make it to the kitchen sink. I might never eat scrambled eggs again. I rubbed his back as he heaved, and wiped his face with a towel when he was done. It dawned on me how many time he had probably done the same thing when I was drunk.

"We'll start with something simpler for lunch later." I said trying to lighten the mood.

Mark tried to glare, but ended up moaning pathetically instead.

"Go lay down on the couch, I'll play something for you."

He wobbled over to the couch and I slipped into my bedroom to get my guitar. Mark was half asleep already when I returned. I tucked a blanket around him, and started to put my guitar away when he started to mumble.

"Please play for me, I'll stay awake. I need to hear your voice."

I smiled. "You're bossy when you don't feel good, remind me to take advantage of that at some point." I said jokingly.

"I'd like that." Mark responded sleepily, closing his eyes.

I started strumming Musetta's Waltz to warm up, it had been a while since I played.

_"Your eyes  
As we said our goodbyes  
Can't get them out of my mind  
And I find I can't hide  
From your eyes  
The ones that took me by surprise  
The night you came into my life  
Where there's moonlight I see your eyes  
How'd I let you slip away  
When I'm longing so to hold you  
Now I'd die for one more day  
'Cause there's something  
I should have told you  
Yes there's something  
I should have told you  
When I looked into your eyes  
Why does distance make us wise?  
You were the song all along  
And before this song dies  
I should tell you I should tell you  
I have always loved you  
You can see it in my eyes"_

I know it was Mimi's song, but it just felt so right to sing it now. After all, I had missed Mark too, and his eyes were nothing short of magical.

By the time I finished singing the last line, Mark was already asleep chest softly rising and falling.

"Night Mark." I whispered, brushing his un-gelled hair off his forehead and removing his glasses. I wanted to make him better so bad it literally, physically hurt. But what more could I do? Getting myself sick certainly wasn't going to help and I was exhausted. I pushed my guitar under the coffee table and curled up on the floor beside the couch, just in case. I was asleep not five minutes later.

"Roger. What are you doing on the floor?" Mark whispered, kicking me gently.

"Sleeping. Why? Are you okay?" I asked suddenly awake.

"Yeah I'm fine, but that can't be comfortable. Come up here, there's room."

I was too tired and sore to argue. Mental note, never sleep on the bare wooden floor again. Ever. No matter what. The old threadbare couch felt like heaven, completed by my blue eyed angel already closing his glorious eyes again. He sighed contentedly as I conformed my body to his, signaling he wasn't quite asleep yet.


	6. Chapter 6

Finally some action here, if you catch my drift. Actual plot coming up soon I swear! In fact, most likely after this chapter, once I decide what to do. review if you have any suggestions/requests/complaints etc

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the rights to RENT. I do however own this story, the plot etc. hey, I have to take some credit.

* * *

"Roger?"

I jerked awake. Mark was standing in front of the couch, peering down at me.

"What are you doing up?" I asked, blinking awake.

"I made dinner."

I looked out the window behind him. It was pitch black save for the abundant neon signs and a full moon.

"What time is it?"

He glanced at his watch.

"Eleven thirty."

"I'm the one who's supposed to be taking care of you…" I said yawning and sitting up.

He laughed, showing a shadow of his old self.

"Roger, there's no way you have the energy for that. I think this is the most active you've been since the last time you got high."

"You always have to remind me what an asshole I've been, don't you?" I said trying to cover my embarrassment with humor.

"It's okay. Come on, you've got to eat something now too."

He handed me a bowl of chicken noodle soup.

"You're eating too right?"

Mark retrieved another bowl, half full, from the kitchen.

"Before you say **anything**, it's half full because I've been eating it."

"Good boy." I said, putting my hand on his shoulder.

We took up opposite ends of the couch, feet facing each other, eating in silence. I finished at least ten minutes before him, but Mark was finally eating again.

"I think you deserve a reward for being such a trooper these past couple of days." I ventured, while we washed the dishes after he had finished.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked innocently.

"What would you like?" I said, ready to give him the world.

He dried his hands on a towel, took mine still dripping and led me past the table out of the kitchen.

"Mark?"

Without a word he pushed me softly onto the couch and straddled my hips. His blue eyes were blazing like the flame of a gas stove.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

He fused his mouth to mine, running his pale fingers through my hair and down my neck in an unmistakable response. Pulling back he whispered

"Trust me, this is the best reward I could ask for."

I adjusted myself so I could lay down, with Mark still straddling me. He ran his cool fingers under my shirt, feeling, making me want more and more. I peeled his shirt off; slowly, delicately. The weight he had lost was painfully obvious, ribs protruding.

"I don't want to accidentally hurt you." I said, taking his hands in mine.

"You won't" he whispered, leaning down to kiss me.

"I could and you know it." I said pulling back.

"Please Roger. I need this. I need to feel something. I need to know you love me. I'll tell you if it hurts, I promise."

I could hear the desperation in his voice, born of months of rejection and putting everyone else first. I was scared as hell, but I couldn't stop for anything.

I responded by pulling him down on top of me, I hadn't realized how much I needed this too.

We didn't go too far, just exploring, he was still too weak to exert himself for long. I pulled my shirt back on once he drifted off to sleep. Collins showed up ten minutes later, I had to give him points for timing.

"Hey man, how's he doing?" he said gesturing to Mark with his free hand. We were toasting his slow recovery with a customary drink. I was careful not to get too trashed, I needed to stay sober just in case.

"Better, he gets tired pretty easily but the coughing settled down a lot with the medicine we got from the clinic."

"That's good. That's real good." He responded, patting my back.

"Yeah, but I don't know how we're going to afford it once the samples run out. Mark can't possibly go back to work any time soon."

Collins took a sip of his drink, contemplating what to say next.

"Know of any jobs that a burned out rock star can swing?"

"What ever you can find that's not going to get you killed or addicted to something new?" he suggested.

"That's helpful. I bet there's a club out there I used to play that can find me a job."

Collins just shrugged, I could tell what he was thinking. 'If you do something like that, you better not get yourself in the middle of any drug rings, turn into an alcoholic or sleep with everything that breathes. I don't think Mark can handle putting you back together again.'

Did I ever mention that Collins can say a lot with one look?

"Thomas, sometimes I don't think you trust me."

"I trust you, just not that druggie you used to be, that's still gotta be in there somewhere. I'll help you look for a legit job if you're serious."

"Thanks man."

"Hey, what're friends for?" he slurred.

"I think you're drunk, and not fit to leave this loft any time soon. Help me carry Mark to his bed and you can have the couch."

We easily lifted Mark, and somewhat carefully got him into his own bed. I made sure Collins was set on the couch before climbing fully dressed in to my own bed to get a full night's sleep for the first time in ages.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I only own the stuff that I make up.

* * *

I woke up early the next morning, my body still not used to getting more than two hours of sleep at a time. I checked on Mark, who was sleeping soundly as ever, before slipping into the kitchen for some coffee. Collins was sprawled on the couch, snoring, he wasn't going to be up any time soon either.

Sitting at the kitchen "table", I tapped my foot and a pen simultaneously trying to brainstorm a list of jobs I could handle. I finished half a pot of coffee before Mark woke up. I had three things on my list; bartender, club bouncer and back up singer/guitarist. Mark made himself a cup of tea and some toast before coming up behind me, slipping his arms around my shoulders and peering down at my list.

"You thinking about getting a job?" he yawned before kissing my cheek.

"Yeah, you got any ideas?" I said sighing; it wasn't like I was making any progress on my own.

"Could you two possibly shut up? I've got a hangover that could rival last New Year's Eve." Collins broke in before Mark could respond.

"Come on" I whispered, taking Mark back into my bedroom.

After I situated myself on the bed, notebook still in hand; Mark curled up between my legs.

"Are you serious about getting a job?" he asked, leaning back onto my chest.

"It's not like I have a choice Mark, who knows when you'll be able to go back."

His face darkened, jaw set in a scowl.

"I'm fine. I'll be back to work tomorrow!" he said stifling a cough.

I rolled my eyes. "I'll take the first job I find, it's my turn to take care of you."

"But Roger!" he started to protest.

"Mark, I'm not totally incompetent. I can work again, just give me the chance to prove it to you."

"Let me see that list again." He said in lieu of a real reply.

I handed him the notebook after turning it back to the right page.

He scanned the short list, while chewing the inside of his lip in thought.

"I don't want you going back into the whole club scene." He said finally.

"What? You don't trust me to stay clean and sober?" I said spitefully.

"No, it's not that. It's not you I don't trust. "

I covered my face with my hands, taking a deep breath to keep from lashing out. I had to keep my temper in check, especially now.

"The clubs are all I know, Mark. I didn't go to college like you. Shit, I barely graduated high school. The only classes I really passed were English, music theory, band and gym. What else can I possibly do?"

Mark thought for a second before mumbling something.

"Huh?"

He blushed before repeating himself a little louder. He was so cute when he was nervous, it bothered me a little bit that I still made him nervous though.

"You could teach private lessons, piano's always popular… or vocal."

It was ridiculous. Me teach someone how to sing? Where would I find someone who would hire me to teach anything?

I could tell Mark really didn't want me back in the clubs, and I didn't blame him but I just didn't see how I could do anything else.

"I could help you make some flyers, we can post 'em up all over. Between Maureen and Collins we could probably get some to just about every mailbox in New York."

I smiled. He was so sweet, at least he wasn't insisting that he go back to work instead. Definite progress, on both our parts.


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks to everyone that sent me a review so far, I think I need them more than oxygen sometimes. Keep 'em coming if you want me to update faster. slightly depressing chapter/story line coming up. Just stick with me.

Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to RENT. I own the thoughts that come out of the chaos known as my mind. If I honestly have to remind you of this, you might have some issues.

* * *

After a few stubborn hours of deliberation, we dropped the subject. It wasn't doing anything beyond exerting energy Mark just didn't have yet. However, what he lacked in physical strength he made up for romantically. We fell asleep, wearing a lot less than when we'd originally entered the bedroom.

What seemed like hours later Mark was shaking me awake with a fiery yet sweet look in his eye he whispering

"I got you a present, look under the bed."

I, Roger Davis, have been surprised very few times in my life. This qualified as one of those times. How had Mark gotten me anything, without me noticing? It's not like I'd slept since I found out he was sick… I gave him a sideways glance before sinking to my knees next to the bed. Among the dust bunnies, my guitar case and other assorted junk I couldn't even begin to describe, was a leather briefcase.

I pulled the case up onto the bed, it wasn't very heavy and the contents rattled as I shifted it from its horizontal position.

"Open it!" Mark said excitedly. I could only imagine what he had been like at birthday parties as a kid.

So I opened the case, and my eyes widened in shock.

Inside was a not so shiny pitch pipe, a slightly stained and ripped book of beginner sheet music, a conductor's baton and a time worn metronome.

"Now you have no excuses. I had Maureen scouring the city trying to find this stuff cheap and from the stories I endured, it wasn't easy. You're all set to teach, all you have to do is find students."

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" I rasped, my throat suddenly tight.

All I had ever done was cause Mark trouble and pain, and he treated me like a king. It just wasn't fair, yet he stuck with me happily. I only had one choice, to give it a shot.

In my desperation to fix what I had caused, I let Mark design flyers for my "competitively priced" private vocal, piano or guitar lessons while I hit the streets looking for something I thought was more worth while. Club managers remembered me from my glory days and instantly agreed to call me if they heard anything. I knew it was just a formality and that I wasn't getting anywhere. I stopped at the cemetery to visit Mimi with a single rose before heading home.

"Hey, you've had three calls already." Mark called as I pulled off my boots in front of the door.

"Are you kidding me?"

Were people honestly that desperate to learn to play the guitar, or to sing? I taught myself all that by the time I was twelve, and that was just by listening to the radio!

"Anything serious?"

Mark scanned the pad of notes next to the phone.

"One lady's offering you a thousand a week to teach her how to sing something by Madonna before her anniversary."

I laughed.

"What about the others?"

"A group of kids remembered you from your club days… they want to start their own band."

I shook my head.

"I'm not getting anyone involved with that if I can help it."

"I figured as much. The last one was a mom, whose little girl is sick. Cancer or something I think. She wants to learn how to play the piano before she dies."

I almost dropped the glass of water I was holding.

"She leave a number?"

He looked at the list again.

"Yeah."

When Mark went to take a nap that afternoon, I called the third number on the list. A woman of about thirty answered on the second ring. She had an alluring voice with a slight air of being tense, a mind being stretched a little too thin.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Roger Davis. You, um, left a message for me about giving your daughter piano lessons?" I said, trying to sound professional and confident, blocking out all my other emotions. I needed to be focused.

"Oh yes, thank you for getting back to me so promptly. My daughter, Jessica, is six years old. She has Leukemia, and they don't think she's going to recover. I don't want to sound cheap but she wants to learn to play the piano and her treatments are very expensive; I was hoping you could give her lessons twice a week for $200." She said all this in a rush, as though she'd been through it many times before.

I knew we needed a lot more money than that, but what was I going to do, say no?

"When would you like me to start?"

We worked out a schedule; Tuesdays and Thursdays from 2-3 pm, two hundred dollars, cash every Thursday. The family had recently purchased a second hand piano, in an attempt to make Jessica's wish come true, and they'd been searching high and low for an affordable teacher for weeks. I felt like I was finally doing something good, something that took an edge off of all the bad things I'd done over the years.

When Mark woke up later that evening, he took one look at the smile on my face and knew something was up.

"You got the job? Which one?"

I busied myself in the kitchen preparing dinner.

"I'll tell you after we eat and you take your meds."

Mark's appetite was slowly growing, and it no longer took him three hours to eat a decent sized meal. His cheeks had a little more color, and his blue eyes weren't so listless. Mark was going to be okay, at least for now. My conscience let up ever so slightly, Mark was getting better and I was getting a job. I wasn't a total failure.

"So? What offer did you take?"

I cleared the plates from the table.

"Which one do you think? The sick little girl. It doesn't pay a lot, but you should have heard the lady, I couldn't say no."

Mark just smiled.

"Would you look at that? Roger Davis does have a heart hidden in there somewhere."

I started to protest, a little hurt; until I noticed the grin spreading across his face.

"I'm proud of you, Roger."

"I'm proud of me too."

* * *

Can i just tell you how much i loved writing that chapter? I can't wait to keep going, so let me know what you think/ any suggestions and i'll have the next bit up asap.


	9. Chapter 9

I am SO sorry for the delay in updating! With school ending, summer school starting, and a major break through in a 'real' story I just haven't had the time. Thank you for your patience. I can't guarantee an update really soon, however some reviews might change that…

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT rights.

* * *

To get into a teacher's frame of mind, I retried the lost cause of teaching Mark how to play the guitar. We sat facing each other on the bed, my guitar between us. Mark stared at the instrument like it was a meteorite crashed down from space. I never understood what was so complicated about plucking the right strings, it seemed like a natural thing to me, but Mark just couldn't get it.

"Relax, Mark. That's half your problem you're too stiff. Feel the strings, feel the notes."

Mark mumbled something about new found patience and tried again. He was getting closer, but it was still a far cry from music.

He was doing much better physically, but he wouldn't forget the fact that I'd taken care of him. None of us ever realized that the reason Mark was always there for the group was that he didn't want to be helped himself. He hated dependency, and was making it painfully obvious that he wanted to pay me back.

"I called Alexi today, I'm going back to work at the end of the week." He said waiting for my next instructions.

I sighed. "Are you sure you're ready? You've only been back on your feet two days. You still need your rest, and they make your work all those crazy hours…"

He laid his head back against the wall, toying with the buttons on his shirt. He wouldn't look me in the eye.

"Roger, I can't do this anymore. I'm fine. I don't want you to worry about me, it was my fault that I got sick and I appreciate everything you did for me but this is something I have to do."

If he wasn't very careful I was going to lose it. Fast.

"You don't owe me a damn thing."

He bit his lip, trying to figure out how to tell me I was wrong. I cut him off.

"What the hell are you talking about? I did it because I love you, and I care about you. If it wasn't for you, I would be long past dead by now if not from drugs but because I didn't care enough to take care of myself. If anything I was paying you back. Why can't you just accept that sometimes you need some help like the rest of us?"

"I'm sorry, I just can't…"

Mark quite literally leapt off the bed, put on his coat and left the loft, not even grabbing his camera. I'm pretty sure I saw tears in his crystalline eyes.

I know I should have run out after him, but I figured it would only make things worse. If he wasn't back by dark, I would go out after him.

I spent the next two hours running worst-case scenarios through my mind. I was more than a little edgy, and craving a hit, when the phone rang.

"Hello?" I said, a little too eagerly.

"It's me, Mark, I'm staying with Maureen and Joanne for the night. I'll call in the morning. Good luck tomorrow, if I don't see you before…"

"Mark, wait a sec."

He hung up before I could finish.

"Damn it." I swore under my breath.

Was it my fault I fucking cared about him? What should I have done, let him die? He only had AIDS because he tried to help me. Talk about guilt.

I took the hottest shower I could stand, and went to bed. I didn't notice how much I liked sleeping with Mark curled up beside me, until he wasn't there to do it.

I woke up more tired than when I'd gone to bed. My entire night had been filled with dreams, nightmares, of Mark. In every dream, he died, because I wasn't there to save him. My hair was practically dripping with sweat, and the pillows were drenched. I was going to have to shower yet again.

With a pot of coffee brewing, I dressed in my cleanest jeans and a green button down shirt. It was the shirt Mark said brought out my eyes the best. I checked my briefcase for all my supplies and headed for the address Jessica's mother had given me over the phone.

The apartments in the area where she lived where in a lot better shape than the loft. Maybe just a little smaller, but someone obviously took care of them. When I made my way up the blue carpeted stairs and was standing in front of the dark wooden door to the right apartment, I realized the only name I knew was Jessica's. I didn't even know her last name. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

The woman, who answered, matched the voice from the phone perfectly. At first glance, she was strikingly beautiful, but when you looked a little closer you could see lines of worry hardening her youthful face and her clothes were just a little worn.

"Hi, I'm Roger Davis. The piano teacher?"

_Smooth, really smooth _I thought to myself.

"Oh good, you're here. I'm Mrs. Oliver, Jessica's mother. She's waiting at the piano for you, just over here."

She gestured toward a lovingly decorated living room. There were photographs in a wide variety of sizes and frames hanging on most of the wall space, especially above the furniture. The piano was pushed to the side of the room, wedged in between the wall and the couch. It was a little worn, but it shone with obvious polishing.

Jessica was perched on the bench. She was devastatingly thin and pale, with none other than strikingly blue eyes and a fringe of strawberry blonde hair. She was the spitting image of Mark. Maybe my mind was exaggerating their connection, but it was almost painful.

"Hey Jessica, I'm Roger." I said, offering her my hand.

"Pleased to meet you. Thank you for coming to teach me how to play the piano."

She had the manners to shock a nun. She sure as hell didn't deserve to be so sick.

"Do you know anything about reading music?" I asked first.

"I know the scale." She said softly.

"That's a start. Can you say it for me?"

She nodded. "Do Re Mi Fa So La Ti Do"

"Very good. We play that same thing on the piano."

As I pushed each key, I said the name of the note. Jessica caught on quickly, and began to do it herself. We did several rounds of this before a small alarm clock went off.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Jessica needs to take some of her medication." Mrs. Oliver said, slipping into the room with a cup of pills and a glass of water.

I glanced at my own pager.

"What a coincidence. Me too." I said, taking out a dose.

"Are you sick too, Roger?" Jessica asked, cocking her head to look up at me.

Mrs. Oliver had already left the room.

"Yes, I have a disease that makes me get sick very easily."

"I'm sorry." She said innocently. I could see the questions in her eyes.

"How about we finish your lesson for today, and I'll tell you all about it some other time."

"Okay." She said easily, turning her attention back to the keys in front of her.

We worked on learning the notes, and getting familiar with the keys for the remaining half an hour. I could see she was getting tired, but when her mother came back in at three she didn't want to stop.

"Just ten more minutes, Mom?" she pleaded.

"Mr. Davis has to go, sweetheart. You have to rest anyway."

"Okay." She said yawning.

"Don't worry, I'll be back on Thursday. You just keep learning those notes, okay?"

She smiled obviously pleased she would have an excuse to practice.

"I sure will."

"Good. See you later."

Mrs. Oliver walked me back to the door.

"I haven't seen her so happy in months." She said, looking back at Jessica.

"Happy to help." I said softly.

We said our goodbyes, and I started to make my way back home. I stopped at the cemetery; Mimi deserved to know what was going on right about now.

It was around five o'clock when I walked back through the door. There was a message flashing on the machine. I put my briefcase on the desk, and pushed the play button.

"Hey Roger, it's me. You're obviously not home… or ignoring me. I just wanted to say good luck today; I'll be home after work around nine. Bye."

"Damn it Mark." I whispered after the message was done playing.

He said he was going back to work at the end of the week. Tuesday is not the end of the week. I shook my head; it was going to take a whole lot of compromise for us to work this out.


	10. Chapter 10

I haven't forgotten about this story, I've just been other wise occupied. However, I'm making time now to give you a good chapter. Show your gratitude with reviews!

Disclaimer: if I have to tell you that I don't own RENT, then you don't deserve to be reading my pathetic attempt at homage.

* * *

Mark came home that night, two hours late, shaking with a raging fever. I put my anger aside and cared for him with everything I had. When Thursday came around I seriously thought about canceling Jessica's lesson but Mark refused. I didn't trust him to stay in bed anyway, so Maureen to came to baby-sit, much to Mark's dismay.

Jessica was a prodigy in the making. By the end of our second lesson she had "twinkle twinkle little star" down pat. I'd never seen a little kid so happy.

"Mommy! Come listen! I can play Twinkle Twinkle all by myself!" Jessica called from the piano as I packed up my things.

"Alright, I'm coming sweetheart. Settle down, remember what the doctor said?"

Jessica looked crestfallen for a moment but perked right back up when her mother entered the room.

"I'll settle down once you come here so I can show you what I learned!"

I admired her ability to stay so normal in the face of such a dark future. I knew what it was like to know you were going to die, painfully at that; she was taking it a lot better than I had.

"Just keep up the good work. I'll see you on Tuesday." I said giving her shoulder a pat.

"Thanks Roger. I can't wait to play for my whole family!" she squealed excitedly.

I slipped out the front door, listening to the familiar tune being played without a hitch.

"How is he?" I asked as soon as I slid open the door to the loft and saw Maureen pacing the open floor.

"He's asleep. Again."

"That's not what I asked. I asked how he was." I snipped, heading for the bedroom.

"Relax Roger, he's no different than when you left two hours ago." She laid a ring-laden hand on my shoulder to stop me. "I know how much you care about him. God, how could anybody not? He just needs rest and love. You can help him with both, but he's got to accept that for himself. You can't force him to get better. It's just gotta happen."

Who would have expected Maureen to be spouting advice? Especially advice preaching patience. As much as I hated to admit, she was damn right, but it didn't making watching him hurt, hurt me any less.

"Thanks, Mo. Go home though, I got it from here."

She kissed my cheek, leaving a sticky wine colored stain, and left.

I put my briefcase on the kitchen "table" and went to check on my boy.

He was curled up on the left side of the bed, almost like a cat, on top of the covers. His pale blonde hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, at least his fever was breaking. I sat down, to watch him.

"Hmm you're home. Now I don't have to pretend to be asleep." He slurred.

I slid closer and took his clammy hand.

"What are you talking about?"

"Maureen was feeling mother-y. She didn't leave me alone until I pretended to be asleep. It was _are you okay? Do you want some soup? How about water? Do you need anything? _It was giving me a headache more than making me feel better. That's what I like about you; you always know what I need. _Even if I don't_"

He whispered the last part so softly I wasn't even sure if he'd said it. I thought about what Maureen said before I answered.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

If I won a single battle I lost all the others. Or so it seemed.

Mark regained his strength again and started to be more careful with his hours. I could tell he still resented my help, but I was also more careful to make it seem as thought he had more independence. I was happier than I can put into words about his recovery but if it's not one thing it's something else.

After teaching Jessica for three months, her favorite piece was Musetta's Waltz. Maybe I had let it slip that it was mine too? It made it all the more painful when she was admitted into the hospital with a bad prognosis for recovery. I visited her a few times bringing flowers or another simple trinket. Anything to bring a smile to her adorable, vulnerable, innocent face.

"Roger, I know you mean well but I'm going to have to ask you to stop visiting." Mrs. Oliver said to me one day when I was getting ready to leave. I was shocked and it must have shown.

"Jessica really loves you coming to see her, but it makes her miss the piano. It was the one thing that she had that she could still do after she got sick but now she can't even do that. I want her to have hope but it just doesn't look like she's going to make it this time." There were tears in her eyes when she looked at her daughter.

I looked at the sleeping little girl. She was paler and even more skeletal then when I'd first met her. There were bruise colored circles around her eyes. I knew that look; it was the slow process of dying. I'd seen it before, but it never got any easier.

"Okay. Let me come one more time, it probably won't be tomorrow but as soon as possible."

Against what was probably her better judgment, she agreed.

"Thank you." I said giving her a hug and dashing out of the hospital. I was a man on a mission and I wasn't going to be stopped for anything.

Mark was playing solitaire on the unmade bed when I got home. He was intently trying to figure out what to do with the five of diamonds he had in his hand.

"How's Jessica doing?" he said looking up frustratedly from the game.

"Awful." I said, realizing it wasn't an exaggeration.

"You look like you have a plan. I don't like that look usually."

I leaned down to kiss his permanently chapped lips.

"I know. I need to find something. I'll be back in a few hours."

He looked at me confused, but knew enough not to ask.

I checked all the music stores I knew of first. Keyboards were cheap, but I needed one that was light enough to put on Jessica's lap. She wouldn't be able to get out of bed to play. It was dark, cold and windy before I climbed the never ending flight of stairs up to the loft.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Mark asked from the kitchen, where he was eating a bowl of cereal.

"Not yet."

"You will." He said confidently, over estimating me.

"I have to."

Sensing my frustration he got up and gave me a hug.

"You took care of me, whatever this is will work out."

"If only it was that simple."


	11. Chapter 11

Sorry again for the delays, I hope you have enjoyed this story, as this will be the final chapter. Thanks for all your support, and read my other stuff if you haven't already.

Just because it's the end doesn't mean you can't review!

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to RENT. Duh.

I found the perfect secondhand keyboard in a pawnshop about fifteen minutes from the loft. It was old and battery operated but all the keys still worked.

"Roger, what the hell is that?" Collins asked when I brought it through the door.

"It's a keyboard, Thomas."

"I got that much."

He sent a questioning look at Mark.

"It's for a little girl I've been giving lessons to. She's in the hospital, she's got leukemia and it doesn't look good. She can't practice anymore, obviously and her mom says she misses it like hell. She said seeing me makes it worse, so I'm going to bring it to her tomorrow."

"Damn." Was all Collins could manage.

I took the keyboard back to my bedroom and wrapped it in newspaper because fancy wrapping paper was just too expensive.

"Roger?" Mark asked, standing in my doorway.

"Yeah?"

"Come out and eat dinner."

"Just a second."

I put a few more strips of tape on the package and inspected my work. Satisfied that it was fully swathed in paper, I joined Mark in the kitchen.

"Are you alright?" he asked, putting plates of spaghetti on the table.

He was finally eating normally again.

"Yeah, I'm great. Do you want to visit Jessica with me tomorrow?"

"Are you sure you want me there?"

"Definitely. That and I need someone to spot me walking around the hospital with a keyboard."

"Okay." Mark agreed laughing.

It felt so good to hear him laughing again, like nothing was wrong. I was anxious the rest of the night, I just wanted to make Jessica happy. I think Mark could sense it though because he curled up next to me, closer than usual.

"Ready?" Mark asked when he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a blue polo shirt that mimicked his eyes.

"I think so."

He smoothed my hair and pressed his lips to mine.

"You can do this."

"I have to."

Jessica was sitting up in bed, watching TV when we arrived.

"Roger! Oh good you came back! The doctors say I'm a little better."

"That's great sweetheart." I said lightly. I could tell she really wasn't.

"Who's that?" she asked, gesturing to Mark.

"This is my best friend in the whole world, Mark."

Mark waived and smiled.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

"Yep."

"Good."

We talked for a few minutes before I presented her with the gift.

"What's this?"

"Open it and see."

I put the package on her lap and she delicately tore off the meticulously taped paper.

"It's a keyboard!"

"So you can practice."

She immediately began to play while Mark and I cleared away the paper. Mrs. Oliver appeared in the doorway.

"Roger, you're a hero." She said giving me a hug.

"She just looked so sad without it. It was the only thing I could do."

Mark and I spent the next month at home, without incident. I didn't really have a job anymore and Mark was taking a paid sabbatical to film another documentary.

One regular morning after a long night of interesting proportions, the phone rang. I pretended not to hear it but Mark got up to answer.

"Hello?" Mark answered softly, trying in vain not to wake me up.

"Just a second."

He handed the receiver to me. "It's Jessica."

I sprang to attention.

"Hello?"

"Hey Roger, it's Jessica Oliver. I'm going home from the hospital today. They said I'm getting better instead of worse! They don't even know how it happened."

"That's fantastic! Congratulations."

"I think it was the piano."

"Me too. No matter what they say, music is the best medicine."

We said our goodbyes and set up a day for me to visit in a week or two. I hung up the phone feeling on top of the world.

"She's coming home, Mark."

"I figured, you have the cutest smile on your face."

"Shut up." I said playfully, smiling even wider.

"Music is the best medicine?" he questioned.

"Well I couldn't say sex, she's six!"

"Oh, okay."

Mark proceeded to unbutton my jeans to prove his point.

Though the three of us were still sick, we managed to live our lives. Mark, Jessica and I were all connected and gave each other a reason to live through the sacrifices we made.


End file.
